The Complete Works of Josh Billings

It has been said of Josh Billings by one of the critics of his own land that “His wit has no edge to betray a malicious motive; but is rather a Feejee club, grotesquely carved and painted, that makes those who feel it grin while they wince. All whom he kills die with a smile upon their faces.” In directing his shafts against humbug, pretension, and falsity he worthily carries out the true vocation of the comic writer. Many authors there are who write funnily merely to amuse. There is always a higher purpose peeping out from among the quaint fancies and odd expressions of Josh Billings. Just inasmuch as America is prolific of humorists and satirists, does she require them. The bane and the antidote grow in the same garden.

Were it not for the satirists of America – of whom Josh Billings is one as well as a humorist – it is difficult to imagine to what ludicrous eccentricities the people would lend themselves. Too self-sufficient to listen to argument, they are keenly sensitive to ridicule, and a little of Josh Billings is more effective in doing good than the best sermon a foreign friend could preach them. Burlesque their salient, amiable weaknesses – that is, let them be burlesqued by one of their own people, not by a foreigner – and they at once see the point of the joke. In illustration of this, there was a paper in Cincinnati which was very much given to use the phrase, “this great country,” and carried the use of it to an unwarrantable extent. It ceased to do so when the following appeared in a neighboring journal: —

“This is a glorious country! It has longer rivers and more of them, and they are muddier and deeper, and run faster, and rise higher, and make more noise, and fall lower, and do more damage than anybody else’s rivers. It has more lakes, and they are bigger and deeper, and clearer, and wetter than those of any other country. Our rail-cars are bigger, and run faster, and pitch off the track oftener, and kill more people than all other rail-cars in this and every other country. Our steamboats carry bigger loads, are longer and broader, burst their boilers oftener, and send up their passengers higher, and the captains swear harder than steamboat captains in any other country. Our men are bigger, and longer, and thicker, can fight harder and faster, drink more mean whiskey, chew more bad tobacco, and spit more, and spit further than in any other country. Our ladies are richer, prettier, dress finer, spend more money, break more hearts, wear bigger hoops, shorter dresses, and kick up the devil generally to a greater extent than all other ladies in all other countries. Our children squall louder, grow faster, get too expansive for their pantaloons, and become twenty years old sooner by some months than any other children of any other country on the earth.”

Burlesques, such as the above, whether written by Artemus Ward or Josh Billings, have not been without their good effect in the United States. The genius of “hifaluten” as the Americans call it – the word is derived, I believe, from “hyphen-looping” – has received many mortal wounds lately from the hands of the satirists and good results have ensued.

The writings of Josh Billings cannot be read with out exciting mirth, without sometimes hitting home, nor without the reader becoming satisfied that America has added to her humorous authors one in every way well qualified to take foremost rank.

For real side-shaking fun, the reader may turn to many pages of this volume and find a copious supply; but, if he is desirous of humor and pathos allied, let him turn to the chapter on “The Fust Baby,” page 383. He will there find that, underlying the caustic wit of Josh Billings, and a stratum or two deeper than his quaint fun, is a quiet layer of genuine feeling capable of comprehending and of originating the power to express the very poetry of pathos. The “fust baby” born “on the wrong side of the garden ov Eden” is invested in this humorous essay with all the interest which babyhood is susceptible of acquiring.

There is little that remains to be said relative to Mr. Shaw, except to express the opinion that he has taken a very worthy position among the authors of his own country, and is likely to become a general favorite in England in his character of “Josh Billings.” Some of his latest papers were contributed to the New York Saturday Press, under the head of “Cooings and Billings,” with a commendatory notice by the editor of that paper, Henry Clapp, jun., whose name is not altogether unknown to the literary men of London and of Paris.

KONTENTMENT

Kontentment is the gift ov God, as it kan be cultivated a little, but it is hard tew acquire. Kontentment is sed to be the same az happiness, this ackounts for the small amount ov happiness laying around loose, without enny owner. I don’t beleave that man was made tew be kontented, nor happy in this world, for if he had bin, he wouldn’t hav hankered enuff for the other world.

When a man gits perfektly kontented, he and a clam are fust couzins.

Contentment iz a kind ov moral laziness; if thare want ennything but kontentment in this world, man wouldn’t be any more of a suckcess than an angleworm iz.

When a man gits so he don’t want ennything more, he iz like a rackcoon with his intestines full ov green corn.

Contentment iz one ov the instinkts, i admit it tew be happiness, but it iz kind ov spruce gum chawing happiness.

We all find fault with Adam and Eve, for not being kontented, but if they had bin satisfied with the gardin ov Eden, and themselfs, they would hav been living thare now, the only two human beings on the face ov the arth, az innocent as a couple of vegetable oysters.

They would hav bin two splendid specimens ov the handy work ov God, elegant portraits in the vestibule ov heaven, but they would not hav developed reazon, the only God-like attribute in man.

When a man iz thoroly kontented, he iz either too lazy to want ennything, or too big a phool tew enjoy it.

I hav lived in naberhoods whare everyboddy seemed to be kontented, but if the itch had ever broke out in them naberhoods, the people would have skratched to this day.

I am in favor of all the vanitys, and petty ambishuns, all the jealousys and backbitings in the world, not bekauze i think they am hansome, but bekauze I think they stir up men, and wimmin, git them onto their muscle, cultivating their venom and reazon at the same time, and proving what a brilliant cuss man may be, at the same time that it proves what a miserable cuss he iz.

I had rather see two wimmin pull hair, than tew see them set down, thoroughly satisfied with an aimless life, and never suffer eney excitement, greater than bleeding tears together, through their noze, for a parcel of shirtless heathen on the coast ov Madagaskar, or, once in a while, open their eyes, from a dream ov young hyson contentment tea, tew sarch the allmiknak, for the next change in the moon.

Contentment, in this age of the world, either means death, or dekay, in the days ov Abraham, contentment was simply ignorance.

The world iz now full ov larning, the arts, and sciences, and all the thousand appliances ov reazon, these things make ignorance the exception, and no man haz a right tew cultivate contentment, enny more than he haz tew cut oph hiz thum, and set quietly down, and nuss the stub.

Show me a thoroughly contented person, and i will show yu an useless one.

What we want iz folks who won’t be kontented, who kant be kontented, who git up in the morning, not simply to hav their bed made, but for the sake ov gitting tired; not for the sake ov nourishing kontentment, but for the sake ov putting turpentine in sum ded place, and stiring up the animals.

Contentment was born with Adam, and died when Adam ceased tew be an angel, and bekum a man.

I don’t say that a man couldn’t be hatched out, and, like a young owl, set on a dri limb, awl hiz days, with hiz branes az fasst asleep az a mudturkles, and at last sneak into heaven, under the guize of kontentment, but i do say, that 10 generashuns ov sich men would run most of the human race into the ground, and leave the ballance az lifeless, and az base, as a currency made out ov puter ten cent pieces.

I would like jist az well az the next man, tew crawl into a hole, that jist fitted me, hed fust, and thus shutting out all the light, be contented, for i know how awfully unsothening the aims, and ambishuns ov life are, but this would only be burying mi few tallents, and sacrificing on the ded alter ov kontentment, what war given me, to make a fire or a smudge with.

Thare aint no sich thing as contentment and reazon existing together; thoze who slip out ov the crowd, into sum alley, and pretend they are chawing the cud of sweet kontentment, the verry best specimens ov them, are no better than pin cushions, stuck full.

They have jist az menny longings az ennybody, they have jist az menny vices, their virtews are too often simply a mixtur ov jealousy and cowardice.

Contentment is not desighned, as a stiddy bizziness, for the sons ov man, while on this arth.

A yeller dogg, with a tin kittle tew his tale, climbing a hill, at a three minit gate iz a more reazonable spektacle for me, than a slimy snail, contented and happy.

MARRIAGE

Marriage iz a fair transaction on the face ov it.

But thare iz quite too often put up jobs in it.

It iz an old institushun, older than the pyramids, and az phull ov hyrogliphicks that noboddy kan parse.

History holds its tounge who the pair waz who fust put on the silken harness, and promised tew work kind in it, thru thick and thin, up hill and down, and on the level, rain or shine, survive or perish, sink or swim, drown or flote.

But whoever they waz they must hav made a good thing out ov it, or so menny ov their posterity would not hav harnessed up since and drov out.

Thare iz a grate moral grip in marriage; it iz the mortar that holds the soshull bricks together.

But there ain’t but darn few pholks who put their money in matrimony who could set down and giv a good written opinyun whi on arth they cum to did it.

This iz a grate proof that it iz one ov them natral kind ov acksidents that must happen, jist az birds fly out ov the nest, when they hav feathers enuff, without being able tew tell why.

Sum marry for buty, and never diskover their mistake; this iz lucky.

Sum marry for money, and – don’t see it.

Sum marry for pedigree, and feel big for six months, and then very sensibly cum tew the conclusion that pedigree ain’t no better than skimmilk.

Sum marry tew pleze their relashuns, and are surprized tew learn that their relashuns don’t care a cuss for them afterwards.

Sum marry bekauze they hav bin highsted sum whare else; this iz a cross match, a bay and a sorrel; pride may make it endurable.

Sum marry for love without a cent in their pocket, nor a friend in the world, nor a drop ov pedigree. This looks desperate, but it iz the strength ov the game.

If marrying for love ain’t a suckcess, then matrimony iz a ded beet.

Sum marry bekauze they think wimmin will be skarse next year, and liv tew wonder how the crop holds out.

Sum marry tew git rid ov themselfs, and diskover that the game waz one that two could play at, and neither win.

Sum marry the seckond time to git even, and find it a gambling game, the more they put down, the less they take up.

Sum marry tew be happy, and not finding it, wonder whare all the happiness on earth goes to when it dies.

Sum marry, they kan’t tell whi, and liv, they kan’t tell how.

Almoste every boddy gits married, and it iz a good joke.

Sum marry in haste, and then set down and think it careful over.

Sum think it over careful fust, and then set down and marry.

Both ways are right, if they hit the mark.

Sum marry rakes tew convert them. This iz a little risky, and takes a smart missionary to do it.

Sum marry coquetts. This iz like buying a poor farm, heavily mortgaged, and working the ballance ov yure days tew clear oph the mortgages.

Married life haz its chances, and this iz just what gives it its flavour. Every body luvs tew phool with the chances, bekauze every boddy expekts tew win. But i am authorized tew state that every boddy don’t win.

But, after all, married life iz full az certain az the dry goods bizziness.

No man kan swear exackly whare he will fetch up when he touches calico.

Kno man kan tell jist what calico haz made up its mind tew do next.

Calico don’t kno even herself.

Dri goods ov all kinds iz the child ov circumstansis.

Sum never marry, but this iz jist az risky, the diseaze iz the same, with no other name to it.

The man who stands on the bank shivvering, and dassent, iz more apt tew ketch cold, than him who pitches hiz hed fust into the river.

Thare iz but phew who never marry bekauze they won’t they all hanker, and most ov them starve with slices ov bread before them (spread on both sides), jist for the lack ov grit.

Marry yung! iz mi motto.

I hav tried it, and kno what i am talkin about.

If enny boddy asks yu whi yu got married, (if it needs be), tell him, yu don’t reccollekt.

Marriage iz a safe way to gamble – if yu win, yu win a pile, and if yu loze, yu don’t loze enny thing, only the privilege ov living dismally alone, and soaking yure own feet.

I repeat it, in italicks, marry young!

Thare iz but one good excuse for a marriage late in life, and that iz —a second marriage.

FASHION’S PRAYER

Kind Fortune may thi mersys endure forever; smile thou out ov thi loving eyes upon this fine bust ov mine.

Strengthen mi husband, and may hiz faith and hiz money hold out to the last.

Draw the lamb’s wool ov unsuspicious twilight over hiz eyes, that mi flirtashuns may look to him like viktorys, and that mi bills may strengthen hiz pride in me.

Bless, oh! Fortune, mi crimps, rats, and frizzles, and let thi glory shine upon mi paint and powder.

When i walk out before the gaze ov vulgar man, regulate mi wiggle, and add nu grace tew mi gaiters.

Bless all dri goods klerks, milliners, manty-makers and hair-frizzers, and give immortality to Lubin and hiz heirs, and assighns forever.

Lead me bi the side ov colone waters, and fatten mi calves upon the bran ov thi love.

Blister, oh! Fortune, with the heat ov thi wrath, the man who treds upon the trail ov my garments.

Take mi two children oph from mi hands, for they bother me, and take them to be thi children, and bring them up to suit thiself.

When i bow miself in worship, grant that i may do it with ravishing elegance, and perserve unto the last the lily-white ov mi flesh, and the taper ov mi fingers.

Smile thou graciously, oh! Fortune, upon mi nu silk dress, now in the hands of the manty-maker, and may it fit me all over like unto, as the ducks foot fitteth the mud.

Destroy mine enemys with the gaul ov jealousy, and eat thou up with the teeth ov envy, all thoze who gaze at mi style.

Save me from wrinkles, and foster mi plumpness.

Fill both mi eyes, oh! Fortune, with the plaintive pizon ov infatuashun, that i may lay out mi viktims, the men as knumb-images graven.

Let the lily, and the roze, strive together in mi cheek, and may mi nek swim like a goose on the buzzum ov krystal waters.

Enable me, oh Fortune, to wear shoes still a little smaller, and save me from all korns, and bunyons.

Bless Fanny mi lap dog, and rain down bezom ov destruckshun upon thoze who would hurt a hair ov Hektor mi kitten.

Remove far from me all the wails of the sorrowful, and shield mi sensitiff natur from the klamours ov the widder.

Shed the light ov thi countenance on mi kammel’s hair shawl, and mi necklace ov dimonds, I beseech thee.

Enable the poor to shirk for themselfs, and save me from all missionary beggars.

I hav always ben a friend to thee, oh Fortune, therefore bless me for ever, and ever.

THE BIZZY BODY

I don’t mean the industrious man, intent, and constant in the way of duty, but he who, like a hen, tired ov setting, cums clucking oph from the nest in a grate hurry, and full ov sputter, az fat spilt on the fire; scratching a little here, and suddenly a little thare; chuck full ov small things, like a ritch cheeze; up and down the streets, wagging around evry boddy, like a lorst dorg; in and out like a long-tailed mouse; az full ov bizzness az a pissmire, just before a hard shower; more questions tew ask than a prosekuting attorney; az fat with pertikulars, az an inditement for hog stealing; as knowing az a tin weathercock.

This breed ov folks do a small bizznes on a big capital, they alwus know all the sekrets within ten miles, that aint worth keeping, they are a bundle of faggot fakts, and kan tell which sow in the neighborhood haz got the most pigs, and what Squire Benson got for marrying hiz last couple.

All ov this iz the result ov not knowing how to use a few brains to advantage, if they only knew a little less they would be fools, and a little more would enable them to tend a fresh lettered gideboard, with credit to themselfs, and not confusion to the travellers.

The Bizzy Body iz az full ov leizure az a yearling heifer, hiz time, (nor noboddy else’s) aint worth nothing to him, he will button hole an auctioneer on the block, or a minister in the pulpit, and wouldn’t hesitate tew stop a phuneral procession to ask what the corpse died of. They are az familiar with every boddy az a cockroach, but are no more use to you, az a friend, than a sucked orange.

Theze bizzy people are of awl genders – maskuline, feminine and nuter, and sumtimes are old maids, and then are az necessary in a community as dried herbs in the garret.

One bizzy old maid, who enjoys her vittles, and dont keep a lot ov tame kats for stiddy employment, is worth more than a daily paper; she iz better than the “Cook’s Own Book,” or a volume of household receipts, and works harder and makes more trips every day than a railroad hoss on the Third avenue cars.

The bizzybody iz generally az free from malice az a fly; he lights on you only for a roost, but iz always az unprofitable to know, or to hav ennything to do with, az a jewelry peddlar.

Thare are sum ov the bizzy folks who are like the hornets – never bizzy only with their stings. Theze are vipers, and are to be feared, not trifled with; but my bizzybody has no gaul in his liver; his whole karackter iz his face, and he iz as eazy to inventory az the baggage of a traveling colporter.

They are a cheerful, moderately virtuous, extremely patient, modestly impudent, ginger-pop set ov vagrants, who have got more leggs than brains, and whose really greatest sin iz not their waste ov facultys, but waste ov time. But time, to one ov theze fellows, flies as unconscious az it duz tew a tin watch in a toy shop window.

They are welcomed, not bekauze they are necessary, but bekauze they aint feared, and are soon dropt, like peanut shells, on the floor.

Thare iz no radikal cure for the bizzybody, no more than thare iz for the fleas in a long-haired dogg – if yu git rid ov the fleas yu hav got the dogg left, and if yu git rid ov the dogg yu hav got the fleas left, and so, whare are you?

Bizzyness and bissness are two diffrent things, altho they pronounce out loud similar.

But after all i don’t want tew git shut ov the Bizzy people; they are a noosanse for a small amount, but sumboddy haz got to be a noosanse, and being aktive about nothing, and energetically lazy, iz no doubt a virtuous dodge, but iz 10 per cent better than counterfitting, or even the grand larceny bizziness. Thare iz one thing about them, they are seldum deceitful, they trade on a floating capital, and only deal in second-hand articles; they haint got the tallent to invent, they seldum lie, bekauze their bizziness don’t require it; thare iz stale truth enuff lieing around loose for their purpose.

Don’t trust them only with what you want to have scattered, they will find a ready market for every thing that a prudent man would hesitate tew offer, and they always suppoze they are learned, for they mistake rumors, skandals, and gossip for wisdum.

It iz a sad sight to see a whole life being swopped off for the glory of telling what good people don’t love to hear, and what viscious ones only value for the malice it contains. I should rather be the keeper ov a rat pit, or ketch kats for a shilling a head to feed an anaconda with.

FASTIDIOUSNESS

Fastidiousness iz merely the ignorance ov propriety. I hav saw people who had rather die and be buried than say bull. They wouldn’t hesitate tew say male cow. If the thoughts are pure and the language iz chaste, it will do tew say almoste ennything.

The young lady who, a fu years ago, refused tew walk akrost a potato field, bekauze the potatoze had eyes, ran away from home, soon afterwards, with a jewelry pedlar.

Fastidiousness, az a general thing iz a holyday virtew, and i hav frequently notissed that thoze individuals who are alwus afrade they shal cum akrost sumthing hily improper, are generally looking for it.

Fastidiousness and delikasy are often konfounded, but thare iz this difference – the truly delikate aint afrade tew take holt ov things that they are willing tew touch at all with their naked hands, while the fastidious are willing tew take holt ov enny thing with gloves on.

Delikasy iz the coquetry ov truth; fastidiousness iz the prudery ov falsehood.

LOVE

Love iz one ov the pashuns, and the most diffikult one ov all tew deskribe.

I never yet hav herd love well defined.

I hav read several deskripshuns ov it, but they were written by thoze who were in love, (or thought they waz), and i wouldn’t beleave such testimony, not even under oath.

Almoste every boddy, sum time in their life, haz bin in love, and if they think it iz an eazy sensashun tew deskribe, let them set down and deskribe it, and see if the person who listens tew the deskripshun will be satisfied with it.

I waz in love once miself for 7 long years, and mi friends all sed i had a consupshun, but i knu all the time what ailed me, but couldn’t deskribe it.

Now all that i kan rekolekt about this luv sikness iz, that for thoze 7 long years i waz, if enny thing, rather more ov a kondem phool than ordinary.

Love iz an honorabel disseaze enuff tew hav, bekauze it iz natral; but enny phellow who haz laid sik with it for 7 long years, after he gits over it, feels sumthing like the phellow who haz phell down on the ice when it iz verry wet – he dont feel like talking about it before folks.

FEAR

Sum pholks think fear iz the result ov edukashun, but i dont.

I notiss that thoze who are edukated the most, and thoze who are edukated the least, are troubled with fear just alike.

Fear and courage are instinkts.

A man who iz a koward iz born so, and, when he iz full ov skare, hiz hare on hiz hed will git up on end, I dont kare how mutch edukashun yu pile on top ov it.

The gratest kowards in the world are the men ov the most genius – they are the most silly kowards.

One ov theze kind ov men will quake with fear when a mouse knaws in the wainskote at night, but they will face an earthquake next day with composure.

I dont kno ov a more terrible sensashun than fear; it iz deth when it exhausts itself and ends in despair.

I am a grate koward miself, and beleave i waz born so, and yet thare is nothing which i despize so mutch as kowardice.

I would give all the other virtews i hav got (provided i hav got enny), and throw in a hundred dollars in munny besides, for an unlimited supply ov courage.

I would like tew hav courage enuff tew face the devil himself, if he waz the least bit sassy tew to me.

I am satisfied that courage iz an instinkt, for i notiss all the animal kreashun hav it well defined.

BUTY

Buty iz a very handy thing tew hav, espeshily for a woman who aint hansum.

Thare iz not mutch ov enny thing more diffikult tew define than buty.

It iz a blessed thing that there ain’t no rules for it, for the way it iz now, every man gits a hansum woman for a wife.